


Akaashi FM

by grossrabbits



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety, Cliché but damn if we don’t all want it a lil bit, Fluff, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, Kenma's only in Akaashi's memory though, Lowkey implied self-harm, M/M, Mental illness implied, Radio outside window trope, Romance, Song Inspired, Swearing, Teen Angst, The impending doom of uni and adulthood, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7421500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grossrabbits/pseuds/grossrabbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keiji would say that he can’t believe this is happening, but there is no doubt in his mind that it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Akaashi FM

**Author's Note:**

> First fic in a while. I’m not used to writing in present tense so please bear with me and let me know about any mistakes. Trying out a new style too. I’m not 100% sure how Japanese term time works but I tried dammit. This was supposed to be more light-hearted but whatevs.  
> Loosely inspired by Niki FM by Hawthorne Heights. It ain’t what’s being played – you’ll know what is. Still a good idea to listen to it though.

When he was little, Keiji found his lava lamp comforting. It was so gentle in its colour and movement, and the light was never too harsh. He could’ve fallen asleep watching it but he was too scared by the fire hazard warnings on that sticker he was always trying to peel off to leave it switched on. He is no different now, and that scares him more than any catastrophizing. He’s still a kid, he knows this, but is being forced into an adult world he really doesn’t want to be a part of. University had seemed so exciting at the time of application, but now his place is confirmed and his deposit paid he feels the ache in his chest and tears in his eyes as his childhood slips from his fingers.

                It’s not just that. He saw that Bokuto’s eyes had lost their familiar sparkle the first time he came home to visit, and only last week Kenma texted him at two in the morning to say how much weight Kuroo-san has lost over the past month due to exam stress.

                No. He is not ready for this. He cries softly, clutching Gin-chan to his chest. His lava lamp suffuses the whole room in shades of lilac and cream and he wishes, he wishes so damn hard that he could go back, just go back and do it all over again. Exchange causations for this nausea: he wants to feel sick from worry at starting high school, the fear before each match, and the butterflies… Oh _shit_ _now we’re on that are we?_

                Do crushes feel the same as an adult as they do now? Of course, he left behind the stolen glances and blushing cheeks on _that_ night during _that_ visit, and he wouldn’t change his current situation for the world but… say if it did change…

                He smacks his cheeks. Then again. Shakes his head and stands up abruptly but puts Gin-chan down gently, and he paces round the room. He sucks his thumbs with a slight bite, the nails pushing down on his tongue while he clumsily whispers “calm down, calm down.”

                He takes his hands out of his mouth in favour of knotting and locking his fingers while breathing deeply. Inhale for four seconds, hold for seven, exhale for eight. There will be no biting himself, no scratching with his nails nor instruments tonight. _It won’t be as bad as you think_ , he tries to reason.

                He chants this mentally, then quietly, “It won’t be as bad as you think, it won’t be as bad as you think, it won’t be as bad as you think, it won’t be as bad what the fuck is that?” There’s a noise coming from outside. Some guitar riff. Now drums, it sounds pretty pop-punk. _It’s half eleven on Tuesday night and this is suburbia how are these people even allowed to practise?_ But Keiji realises that it’s not some band practising in their parents’ garage, it’s coming from what sounds like a cheap boombox that’s giving up the ghost right under his window. Keiji notes an odd beat, weird percussion he’s never heard before but he quickly realises that someone is, in fact, throwing stones at his window.

                Now English words come out of speakers and he groans. He checks his face in the mirror, roughly wipes his eyes and tries his best to put on a neutral expression. He goes to the window and pulls back the curtains as the CD skips and the poor vocalist jumps from ‘lace’ to ‘we do’.

                Of course it’s Bokuto. How could it be anyone else?

                Keiji opens and leans out of the window. “You’re going to get ill, Bokuto,” he says in monotone. Good, that didn’t sound nervous. He can do this.

                “Then let me in or come outside!” Bokuto replies, smiling so wide his eyes nearly close. Keiji decides that given his current state it’s wiser to stay indoors.

                “Wait there and turn that off.”

                Bokuto laughs and the song is cut off. Keiji hurriedly closes the window and curtains. He doesn’t drag his slippers along the floor like he normally does as he jogs across the landing. He creeps down the stairs, thanking any and all powers that be that his parents are too focused on that new detective show to notice him gliding through the hall towards the door. He gingerly opens it, finding that Bokuto is staring right at him. He waves his hand frantically, gesturing Bokuto to come closer and _fucking quick they’ll notice and it’s still cold!_

                Bokuto sheds his shoes before entering and leaves them outside, hidden between the doorstep and a plant pot full of soil but no flowers. Wordlessly he passes Keiji and goes up the stairs – formalities are redundant in such a stealth operation as this. Keiji locks the door and follows him. At least he has the courtesy to wait for Keiji to invite him into his room.

                Bokuto waits for the door to click before he launches himself onto Keiji. Tonight, Keiji is too anxious and on edge to initiate anything himself, but as their lips move gently yet firmly against each other, he knows that he really needs this right now, and is glad Bokuto is in a proactive mood. It takes Keiji back, back to before he was captain, when Bokuto was. To have him take the wheel on this one is nostalgic, is familiar, is _exactly_ what Keiji needs to take him off the edge. He’s still on the precipice, no doubt, but it’s safer now.

-

It’s been about two minutes, and Keiji pulls away before things escalate because _yes_ there is a part of him that wants it but most of him is still having a crisis and his parents are directly beneath them. Bokuto doesn’t mind. He’s beaming at Keiji but it’s not totally sincere – his arms are tighter than normal around Keiji’s waist and he can feel how tightly Bokuto’s hands are clasped together. Keiji could tip back and be in no danger of falling.

                “What’s wrong?”

                Keiji remembers what Kenma said at training camp last year: “Kōtarō has owl eyes.”

                “Yes, he does.”

                “No,” Kenma said, “Not just in appearance. Like, he can _see_ with them.”

                “He’s perceptive?”

                “Yeah, but, _really_ so.”

                Kenma was right then, and they still are. Keiji keeps his arms on Bokuto’s biceps while he feels his façade slipping. He tries to keep eye contact, he really does, but he loses whatever game is going on right now and drops his head with a soft thud onto Bokuto’s chest.

                “Akaashi.”

                Bokuto rubs the small of Keiji’s back, moves up his spine to between the shoulder blades, and back again. He doesn’t prompt him again, just waits.

                “Growing up sucks.”

                Bokuto laughs, but with an empathetic air, vaguely humourless, “Yeah…” His chest rumbles with every sound, mixing with his heartbeat into a bass-heavy track that reminds Keiji of Kuroo-san’s sound system after he’s fucked about with the settings and pisses off his entire apartment building with loud-ass _Seven Nation Army_ meets a sonic boom, but actually pleasant. It is sweeter than any pretty boy pop-punk song about his Juliet. _Come to think of it…_

                The boombox sits in front of Keiji’s wardrobe. Judging by the numerous energy drink stickers and tip-x cats saying Russian swear words, it was at some point in Kuroo-san’s possession. It’s just one of those curvy silver ones everyone had when they were like ten (except the cool girls – they had the pink one). Still an annoying thing to carry round though. Keiji buries his face further into Bokuto’s hoodie. He’s getting cavities.

                “Did you even understand any of that song?”

                “Hey! I know who Juliet is!” says Bokuto, “And I can say three, two, one!” He counts down in English.

                Keiji smiles.

                “You really just stood outside my window playing a love song on a radio.”

                “I did.”

                “I’m not even surprised.”

                “Aw, Akaashi!”

                “I’m happy though, thank you.”

                Keiji leans up to peck Bokuto’s cheek, and moves to sit on his bed. Bokuto joins him. “I’m glad I did, too,” he says, “You seem like you needed it.

                “You’re scared about uni, aren’t you?”

                Keiji nods. He’s by his pillow, his back against the wall, with Gin-chan again. He sits cross-legged, and Bokuto mirrors him, though he’s leaning forward and instead of holding a silver owl teddy he’s holding Keiji’s ankles. It’s nice, it’s grounding.

                “Look, Akaashi…” he says, looking away. His face and tone show that he feels guilty, and now so does Keiji. He never meant that it was Bokuto’s _fault_ , just that…

                _I’m such an idiot_.

                “I know that I’ve struggled this past year,” Bokuto continues, “But, well, you know I struggle anyway,” he looks at Keiji, smiling sheepishly. _Of fucking course_ , Keiji thinks miserably, _I’m so selfish, so selfish, how could I forget that –_

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry…”

                He begins to cry again, repeating the words over and over.

                “Hey, hey,” Bokuto says, taking his hands and massaging them, “Hey. It’s okay. You aren’t selfish, your brain’s just freaking out is all.”

                Bokuto speaks softly and Keiji’s heart splits and reconnects because how did he get here? How did he get _him_? He wipes his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. Bokuto stays close to him, but not too close. He knows exactly what Keiji needs without even being told. He is really perceptive

                “I’m not ready,” Keiji finally manages out, “Like, I’m leaving _everything_. I’m not a kid anymore, I have to be an adult. I have to make my own phone calls, I have to share a flat with strangers who could be _dicks_ or could party all fucking night and I can’t… I just can’t! I don’t know what else _I don’t know_ there’s no logic I just know what I feel and… and…” he starts crying again, smothering his sobs in Gin-chan’s fluff. He brings his knees to his chest and rests his forehead on them. He curls up.

                “It’s stupid, I’m sorry.”

                “It’s not stupid.”

                Bokuto’s hands grip his shins. He’s still sitting cross-legged in front of Keiji, still keeping the close distance.

                “I won’t lie to you, Akaashi,” he says, “It’s hard, and many days it fucking sucks. My bad brain days were even worse while I was away, and the _stress_ … ugh, it’s not great. But, other days it’s worth it. It’ll be hard to see sometimes, but you can _and you will_ make good friends there. When first year ended I considered dropping out, it had been so difficult. But I’m excited to go back now, I know what to expect and know where I can get help.

                “It’s never like anyone expects. Trust me.”

                Keiji nods. Neither of them were ever great at talking, but he knows what Bokuto means. He’s still scared, and part of him is still screaming at him to just cancel the whole thing. But in the lilac glow and Bokuto’s small smile, Keiji sees familiar calm that he can and will return to in holidays and whenever he wants if he needs to.

                Suddenly things don’t seem so bad.

-

They sit and talk about other things for a while: how Kuroo-san is bribing anyone and everyone who can vaguely sing and/or play an instrument to join his non-existent band, how Konoha’s taking a gap year and is currently nerding out over Lord of the Rings in New Zealand, how Bokuto’s mum has started stress baking again because moving house is such a bloody hassle, and everything else they can think of, until…

                “Keiji, are you awake?” says his mum, tapping the door.

                “Uh… yeah…” he replies, grimacing at a panicking Bokuto.

                “Then come and say goodnight to your mother! Dear Lord! You’ll be leaving me soon!” she continues as such, while Bokuto quickly conceals himself (and the graffitied CD player) uncomfortably under Keiji’s desk, out of sight of the door. Satisfied, Keiji opens the door and steps onto the landing, leaving his door open so as not to arouse suspicion.

                “Night Mum,” says Keiji hugging her.

                “Night son,” says his dad who’s just come up the stairs. He pulls him into a one armed hug before wandering into the master bedroom zombie-like. Apart from Keiji, the Akaashis have never been night owls.

                “Don’t stay up all night,” says his mum before vanishing into her room.

                Keiji watches the door shut before returning to help Bokuto out of his hiding place. He looks at his watch.

                “It’s nearly one,” he whispers with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

                “And?” Keiji arches an eyebrow.

                “How long will it take them to fall asleep?”

                “About half an hour…?” Where’s he going with this?

                “And,” he draws out the ‘a’ part, “What time do I have to be out of here, or you have to back?”

                “What?”

                “My dear Akaashi,” he murmurs and cups Keiji’s face in his hands, “You can’t imagine I came all the way here with American pop-punk just to leave after an hour and a half?”

                “Of course you can stay the night–″

                “Or you can come out.”

                “What?” Keiji whisper-shouts, “You’re suggesting I sneak out? What the hell Bokuto?”

                “Why not?” he says, putting on the face with the half-lidded eyes and boyish smile that _he fucking knows I can’t resist_. Keiji bit his lip.

                “It’s…”

                “Hm?”

                Keiji thinks: why not? Here he is, the boy he’s been madly in love with for three years offering to whisk him into the Tokyo night, offering a _teenage fucking dream_ while he bemoans growing up, and he’s worried… for what?

                Oh… the anxiety, yeah…

                Can’t he kick it in the teeth for one night?

                He takes a deep breath.

                “Do I need a coat or is a hoodie enough?”

-

It’s quarter to two on a Wednesday morning and Akaashi Keiji is running hand in hand with Bokuto Kōtarō to wherever – who even cares? – through the streets of suburban Tokyo. His knees are shaking and a cheap and chunky silver boombox covered in stickers and tip-x is smacking into Bokuto’s thigh repeatedly, but they’re both laughing.

                It’s terrifying.

                But Keiji feels free, and happy, and in love.

                He feels young.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it.  
> Going to uni is scary, and there are times it can be overwhelming and really suck, but there’s always some fun to be had. Trust me, I know.  
> xo


End file.
